


Four Across

by justanotherStonyfan



Series: Hydra Trash Meme 2014 ongoing - blanket dub/non consent warnings [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Play, Comeplay, Conditioning, Hand Jobs, Knifeplay, M/M, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Triggers, Violence, spoilers for captain america the winter soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 06:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1808368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt on the Hydra Trash Meme -<br/><i>So say HYDRA uses the Winter Soldier to seduce people as a spy as well as to assassinate people. Some people like it vanilla, some people like to dominate him - and some people want to be dominated by him. He's conditioned to be dominant when triggered by a certain word or phrase. There's a word/phrase to turn dom!WS off too, but the character of your choice has no idea what it is. They didn't mean to trigger this aspect of the Soldier, they just happened to say the wrong thing. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Across

**Author's Note:**

> See end notes for warnings and spoilers. 
> 
> I'm not gonna lie, this is potentially hella triggering. *Police Camera Action voice* Viewer discretion advised.
> 
> Thank yous to [eatingcroutons](http://archiveofourown.org/users/eatingcroutons/pseuds/eatingcroutons) for pointing out SpaG errors :)

**4\. Judge Latin master without the queen, finally almost graded. (10)**

“It's ten letters,” Bucky says, perching on a stool by the breakfast bar, “four blanks 's,' four blanks 'e.'”

Steve thinks for a moment. “Where's the 'e' from?” he asks.

“ _Ecclesiastic_ , from five down,” Bucky answers, “minister place in Salford-”

“Ah, yeah, yeah,” Steve says, squinting at the wall as he thinks. “Well that's definitely right. Judge Latin master...”

The glass in his hand squeak-squeak-squeaks as he dries it, and he pauses to snap his fingers a moment later. 

“Got it,” he says, turning around with a grin he knows is smug as he leans with the small of his back against the edge of the sink – it makes the cupboard door behind his legs clatter a little. 

Bucky purses his lips.

“This a word I know?” he says, because he's been caught out by popular culture once or twice. The cryptic crossword is a nice way of spending time with each other over breakfast (or over cleaning up after it), and it's just competitive enough to keep them in a good mood.

They take turns reading – today's Bucky's turn.

“Sure is,” Steve says. “You remember your Latin?” 

“That was a long, long time ago,” Bucky says, smiling ruefully, and Steve rolls his eyes.

“Judge,” he says. “Latin master, without queen,” and then, “finally? Almost graded.”

Bucky frowns, first as Steve and then at the paper. The real reason they do this is to help Bucky. It gets his mind moving first thing on a morning, helps him form pathways and keep his mind conditioned or something like that – Steve doesn't know the ins and outs but it seems to help.

“I'm looking for 'judge'?”

Steve nods.

“Okay, so the...queen is 'ER'?” Bucky says, and Steve nods again. “So I'm looking for a Latin master without 'ER'?”

Bucky frowns down at his crossword. 

“It's not _Dominus,_ ” Steve tells him helpfully, “'cause that doesn't have an 'e' or an 'r' in it.”

“Thanks, jackass,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes. “What's finally almost graded then, word for graded but with letters missing?”

Again, Steve nods. Now and again, if Bucky doesn't get it straight away, he'll ask if it's an anagram (because at least half the time he's right and there are so many words to indicate an anagram that Steve's pretty sure he's just given up trying to remember them all.) 

“So...” Bucky sighs to himself. “Appraised? Gauged...valued...rated-”

Steve clears his throat, and Bucky's head snaps up. 

“Rated?” he asks, and then looks down again. “But it ends in 'e' so...'s' blank rate... serate.... scrate... shate... strate-- Strate, it's magistrate!”

Steve beams at him.

“Right,” he says. “Because the Latin master without the queen is _Magister_ – like _Magister Militum_ or the _Fouga Magister_ – without the 'ER.' So 'Magist,' and then rated without the 'd.' What's the next one?”

And he goes back to drying the glasses. It's weird, he thinks, how the little things can make the difference, how just sitting still and doing the crossword can get Bucky to smile, the same way going for a walk can turn into trying to beat each other to the front door, the same way making dinner can devolve into name calling and nitpicking about how to chop a damned onion.

It wasn't easy to get to this point – it's been a long, hard road, full of mistakes and doubt and nightmares and a million other things Steve expected but still found shocking. Triggers and associations and memories that surface at the most innocuous thing – freshly mown grass, a papercut, the sound of a buzzsaw on wood a block down the street where they're renovating apartments – but they're a little further on.

Bucky knows the difference between nightmares and reality, doesn't wake up confused and thinking he's in Zola's lab in '43, doesn't scrabble to find the nearest paper to check the date, doesn't try and shank the first person to say his name if he's been napping in the corner.

They're getting there, and Steve's aware that they still have a long way to go. But Bucky has a tendency to smile these days, will let himself flop into the couch if he's tried, and listens to every little noise while being aware that he doesn't have to chase each one down. They've made progress.

Actually, Steve thinks, frowning as he sets down the latest glass, speaking of progress...

“Come on, Buck,” he says as he turns around, “what's the next-”

Bucky is right behind him.

“Je-eez!” he says, narrowly avoiding throwing his hands up in front of his face like an idiot. “Warn a guy, wouldja?”

He lowers his hands again – because he might have slightly lifted them just a little – and waits for Bucky's rejoinder. Bucky doesn't give one.

“Buck?” he says, frowning a little, and he looks Bucky up and down.

There's something...off about him. He's standing too still, and he's not blinking.

Steve swallows hard, and he opens his mouth to say “are you all right?” but what happens is that Bucky kisses him.

Bucky's mouth is open, his tongue hot and strong in Steve's mouth and Steve's eyes are closed because they closed automatically but-

“Buck,” he gasps tearing himself away, “what the hell are you-”

But Bucky doesn't let him finish. This time, when he kisses Steve, it's rougher. His teeth are bared and when they sink into Steve's lower lip, Steve tries to pull away again – Bucky's not in his right mind for this, Bucky can't know what he's doing or he'd've said something before. Even when they shared an apartment in Brooklyn, shared a bedroom and pretended not to hear each other until the curiosity and loneliness (because even Bucky could be lonely) got to them both to share a bed, it never got further than whispers and furtive touches, than barely-there hands and mouths because it was simpler to trust in each other, better to trust someone you knew. This doesn't feel like Bucky felt.

But Steve finds that he can't pull away, because Bucky's mechanical hand is twisting in his hair. 

He winces, tries to say something but it comes out a sound that Bucky swallows wholeheartedly, and then Steve's head is being wrenched back and Bucky's mouth is on his throat.

“Buck,” he chokes out, head far back enough that it's getting hard to breathe, and he could shove Bucky off, damn well might kick anyone else in the nuts, but this is _Bucky_ and he couldn't anyway, could never do this to Bucky let alone a Bucky who's come so far, “Buck, God-”

There's pain suddenly in the back of his knee and it drops out from under him like a trapdoor, Bucky's hand still in his hair following just-not-enough so that a spike of pain lances across the crown of his skull like a vice as his knees crack down against the tile.

“Bucky,” he gasps, and Bucky drops onto his knees in front of him, mouth on his throat a moment later, all teeth and suction and it _hurts_ but Bucky's other hand drops down and tugs at the front of Steve's trousers.

It turns Steve's blood cold at the same time his chest and face flush, and he reaches down to try and stop it.

Bucky bangs the back of Steve's head against the cupboard door – except that he doesn't; he takes the brunt of the impact with his own fist – and it's enough to startle Steve for a moment, have his hands halting in mid air.

It gives Bucky long enough to tear open Steve's shirt in one fell swoop, fingers dragging down the fastenings and sending buttons pinging off everywhere, cold air on his skin that only makes his nipples harden. Steve's been aroused in the middle of a fight before, when adrenalin kicked in and he buzz of the fight hummed under his skin, but Bucky didn't know, Bucky never did this, never-

 _“O-Oh-”_

Bucky's hand squeezes hard between his legs and it should hurt, should galvanize him into pushing Bucky away but Bucky's mouth is hot on the underside of Steve's jaw and he's slipped like this before, fallen under and let himself float away on it.

“Bucky,” he says weakly, still the only word he can properly force past his lips, and Bucky's next kiss is softer, sweeter, though the hand in Steve's hair shoves his head forward so he can manage it. 

Steve breathes in hard through his nose, unease beginning to form a cold, hard ball in his stomach.

“Please, Buck,” he whispers, the next time Bucky's rough, biting kisses track towards his ear, and he forces his eyes open because he didn't know they were closed, just as Bucky's hand squeezes between his legs again.

It's not as hard, not as sharp this time, and his hand moves a little, into a rub that Steve fights not to let his hips stutter forward into. 

“Gimme something,” he says, meaning _speak, answer, tell me it's you_ , but what he gets is Bucky's voice, low and warm and honey-rich in his ear.

“You have to ask nicer'n that,” with words so drawn out in an accent so broad it shoves Steve right back into their little shared apartment, shared bedroom, shared bed, _come on, Stevie, show me what you look like when you-_

“Bucky,” he gasps, and Bucky pulls his hair again, doesn't move his hand when Steve closes his fingers around his wrist, Steve's other hand on Bucky's shoulder. Steve tries to pull his hand away but he won't break Bucky's wrist and it's starting to feel like that's what it's going to take, even while his other hand isn't working right, is holding on instead of pushing away.

“Bucky, this isn't-” his breath hitches and the button on his trousers comes away, if it's broken then it's broken, “this isn't you, remember, you gotta remember, Buck-”

Bucky shakes his hand in Steve's hair, shaking Steve's head with it, and Steve's mouth falls open.

“Did I tell you you could _speak_ , soldier?” 

And all of Steve's blood rushes downwards.

“It's a trigger, Buck,” he breathes anyway, as Bucky's flesh and blood hand strokes a long, slow, careful line down his chest and stomach, curling against the few coarse blond hairs that curl up from his waistband. “It's a trigger, there's a word, it was...”

Latin, Master.

“ _Magister,_ it was the crossword, Bucky, it was...” Steve says, as Bucky's warm flesh fingers dip into his boxers, and maybe he shouldn't have said it again. “No, no- oh- _ohh_ , Bucky, no-”

“Shh,” Bucky says against the skin of Steve's throat, “come on, it's just like old times.”

And Steve pauses, hesitates because that _could be Bucky_ , that could be _Bucky's memory,_ but it could be Bucky's training, Bucky's _conditioning_ , to draw on what's wanted and use it - but how else would Bucky know if it's not _Bucky_? There's has to be a word...

“Buck,” he says as Bucky tugs the length of him out of his underwear, “Buck I need you to tell me-”

“You need to be quiet,” Bucky answers, and there's pain in Steve's head as Bucky drags him closer, a sudden jolt of _sensation_ as Bucky grips and _pulls_ him by his cock, firmly enough that he shuffles forward on his knees on instinct, led by Bucky's hands until he finds himself kneeling over Bucky's thigh, “until I tell you otherwise.”

It's enough to steal his breath away because Bucky's wearing jeans and it's rough on Steve's cock, because Bucky's still in there somewhere but his flesh hand is warm and so is his breath, because Bucky might know this, mightn't he? He might understand that Steve maybe likes it a little rough, that Steve can fight his way through pain until it's all he knows and still stand up and keep going, and Bucky's fingers tighten even more in his hair so that he moans softly.

Bucky's fingers pinch the inside of his thigh and he yelps, jumps in Bucky's hands.

“I told you to be quiet, soldier, follow orders or face the consequences.”

And Bucky in his uniform said things like that once or twice, Bucky back in Brooklyn gave orders sometimes, and there was always something behind that word, always sparkling eyes or whetted appetites behind the word _'soldier_ ' when it's spoken like that.

“I don't follow orders,” Steve says, automatically, completely because he's used to bantering with Bucky, and it earns him another pinch, higher up, closer to his balls and he won't last long like this.

“You'll follow these ones,” Bucky says, and it's almost like a blindfold, having his head back so far; he can't see anything except the kitchen ceiling.

“Bucky, listen to me, there's a trigger, this isn't you-”

One long, slow stroke of his cock and Steve's eyes are fluttering shut again. 

“Last time, Stevie,” he says, “you better do as you're goddamned told.”

“Bucky,” he rasps, because Bucky _has_ to hear him, _has_ to get past this.

He gets a slap to the face, hard enough that he wonders if there's blood, and he realizes the throbbing in his head is because Bucky's let go of his hair, is because it must have been the metal hand that struck him. And over the ringing in his ears and the dizziness that's come from having his head so far back for so long, he registers tearing fabric – Steve's only wearing slacks, and cotton boxers, and neither hold up to the metal hand, even while the other one is shoved into the middle of Steve's chest, skin against skin.

“ _Servus,_ ” Steve tries, and Bucky pinches the inside of his thigh again.

Steve whines and Bucky does it harder.

“Quiet!” he says incredulously. “Don't make me _really_ punish you.”

“ _Desiit,_ ” Steve says, breathless already, and Bucky pinches the head of his cock this time.

The only reason Steve doesn't yell is because he can't, it hurts too much, but then Bucky's mouthing at his neck and saying, “good boy,” and Steve's face turns red hot as his cock twitches. “So much better, I knew you could.”

He's always been a sucker for praise and now is _so_ not the time, even as Bucky's voice starts to fill his head proper.

“Hmm, look at you,” Bucky says, as though he's a work of art, “being so good for me.”

And Steve's cock twitches again against the denim of Bucky's thigh. He bites his lip to keep from speaking, to do what Bucky wants. 

“You're gonna do what I tell you,” Bucky says, “and if you're good, I'll let you come.”

Steve wants that so badly it's an ache already, a deep throb in the pit of his stomach and Bucky's here, Bucky's right here, if he could just-

This has to stop, he wants this to stop, but he can't think of anything else he can say that might be enough to _make_ Bucky stop. Every time he's wrong he'll get punished, and he should hate that prospect more than he does.

“Thank you,” he hears himself say, almost automatically, and Bucky's metal hand grips his jaw, other hand dropping away to come back a moment later sharper against his throat, colder and-

 _Knife!_ Steve's mind registers with a jolt of shock.

“It's a good thing you're so polite,” he says, “or you'd have to pay for speaking without permission. And it's 'Sir,' do I make myself clear?”

Steve knows distantly that he's got two choices – he either keeps trying to find words or he complies until the programming sees itself through, and a little pain might move things along but he doesn't like getting slapped hard by a metal hand, doesn't like the knife that's barely there but still waiting against his throat.

He feels more than exposed, more than fearful because Bucky is _strong_ like this, and if the conditioning is what's making Bucky use existing memories to turn Steve on, then Bucky's memories might tell him Steve has the serum and might make Bucky think he doesn't have it himself, and Steve is half naked and actually does have his _cock out_ against Bucky's thigh right now, so if Bucky thinks he can let loose on Steve, Steve might be in one hell of a lot of trouble.

And maybe what he has to do is _let_ this happen, ride this out, let Bucky reach his objective.

And if all Bucky wants him to do is comply, if Bucky's going to do exactly what he's implying, then that's no so difficult, and Steve could forgive him that, Steve hopes Bucky will forgive him that, because there's no way he's punching his best goddamn friend in the face when there's a knife at his throat and it's his own fault he's in this mess anyway.

“Yes, Sir,” Steve whispers, and the tips of Bucky's metal fingers whisper along his jawline. 

“Good boy, Steve,” he says, and Steve bites his lips as another rush of warmth follows the shame. “Stay still.”

And Bucky draws away from him – it takes one hell of a lot not to whine, not to follow even now – Bucky stands up in front of him and his hand is on the fly of his jeans, a darker patch on his thigh where Steve's cock has been leaking precome there, and Steve feels his mouth water, looks up in case Bucky can tell what he wants.

“Good boy,” Bucky croons again, nice and slow, dragging his zipper down and Steve lifts his hands to Bucky's thighs only for Bucky to grab his hair, knife glinting in his flesh hand. “Put your hands behind your back.”

Steve blinks once, scrapes his teeth over his lower lip before wetting it, and places his hands behind his back, following the order not because it's an order but because it's Bucky, and Bucky has a _knife_. 

As soon as Steve's got his hands behind his back, Bucky smirks, picking at the buckle on his belt. 

“You seem like the type who needs a little help doing as he's told,” he says, and the rasp of leather over denim as he pulls the belt from the loops is almost as terrifying as he way he holds it. “Lean forward.”

Steve does, slowly, because he's pretty sure it's going on his wrists but not entirely sure Bucky won't just wrap it around his throat, and he tries his damnedest to think of something he can say or do to kick Bucky back into being Bucky. 

Bucky just leans over him, looping the belt around his wrists and drawing it _tight_ , and it shouldn't be that easy to do, there should be more give, but Bucky's been _trained_ in things like this – he knows what he's doing and it's getting ever more obvious that he's got plenty of experience.

“Now,” Bucky says once Steve's hands are secure, and he eases his cock from the confines of his underwear – and Bucky always did have a gorgeous cock, as much as Steve feels his face burn the second his brain catches up with itself; he knows there aren't many people these days who are still uncut and Bucky isn't hard yet, only getting there. “Get me up, sweetheart.”

Steve bites back a moan at the epithet and stares at Bucky's cock for a second or six, startled into action when the toe of Bucky's _sneaker_ presses his own cock against his stomach. He's got zero experience of this, not even any idea what it feels like, let alone how to perform. But he's heard things about watching your teeth and using your tongue and he ducks his head to get the tip of Bucky's cock in his mouth.

It tastes like skin and salt and the way Bucky smells when he wakes first thing in the morning – not unpleasant, just rich and heavy on his tongue – and Bucky stares down at him impassively when he dares to glance upward.

It doesn't work for long, Bucky's cock is heavy and not yet full, so it slips from Steve's mouth when he tries to take it in a little more. The toe of Bucky's sneaker pushes up a little and it _hurts_ , the rough running-shoe tread against flesh Steve really wishes wasn't so hard.

“Sorry,” he whispers, and Bucky pushes harder. “ _Consto_ , I'm sorry, Sir,” Steve amends, and Bucky tuts, narrowing his eyes – if he heard the Latin, it didn't register.

“Why are you _still talking_?” he says through gritted teeth, and Steve swallows hard as the blade of the knife flicks up into his field of vision.

It's the hardest thing in the world not to apologize again out of habit, but Steve forces down the urge and tries again, nuzzling at Bucky's cock because any kind of stimulation has to feel good, right? Even if it's just...

“Like that, don't you?” Bucky says. “Like just being close to it.”

He opens his mouth a little, tries to wet Bucky's cock so that he can do something useful, and Bucky's cock finally begins to harden against his mouth.

“That's it,” Bucky says, his voice low and encouraging though the knife is right by the other side of Steve's face, “good boy.”

Steve fights down a shudder and keeps going, licking and sucking down the length of Bucky's cock and back, more kind of kissing it, and he feels like an idiot even as it rises. It's longer than he remembers, full without being too thin, and it stands straight where Steve's own curves upward, the head darker as Bucky's foreskin retracts.

“Suck the head,” Bucky says, “nice and hard.”

And Steve does because he's been told to and it's easier to follow orders right now, seals his lips around the head and sucks as hard as he can as he looks up, and Bucky's mouth falls open, his brow furrows.

“Yeah,” he says, stroking the palm of his hand back along Steve's cheekbone until he can cradle the side of his head with warm fingers. 

He eases his hips forward just enough that Steve gets he should be opening his mouth for it, and then the unfamiliar weight in his mouth as Bucky's cock slides in is matched only by the unfamiliar slow slide of hot skin on Steve's tongue.

Bucky draws back, hand sliding to Steve's forehead to grab the short hair of his bangs.

“ _Satis,_ ” Steve says, staring up at him, and Bucky narrows his eyes.

“Open your mouth,” he says, and Steve doesn't. 

He shakes his head, very slowly and keeps his eyes on Bucky.

“ _Claudeo,_ ” he says instead, and Bucky bares his teeth.

A moment later, the tip of the knife is being pressed to the underneath of Steve's chin and he feels his eyes go wide.

“Open. Your. Mouth.”

And Steve swallows hard, staring up at a man he doesn't know who's wearing Bucky's face, and this isn't fair, they've come so far.

“Bu-” but he never gets to finish, the end of the word a strangled, garbled mess of sound as Bucky shoves his cock into Steve's open mouth and _doesn't let up._

He sinks in all the way until he's in so far Steve's nose is buried in the short, dark curls at the base of Bucky's cock, and Steve can't breathe past it, chokes and expects Bucky to pull back but he doesn't, and he tries to cough but it doesn't work, Bucky's cock is in the way of the muscles. It starts a rebellion in his stomach, one that feeds itself as it crawls up his throat until his eyes are watering, and it's only when his vision starts to swim that Bucky pulls back, hand still clenched in Steve's bangs.

Steve can't stop the wracking coughs that shake him, but Bucky keeps his grip on Steve's hair as Steve fight not to vomit all down himself and Bucky.

“I'm gonna fuck your mouth, Stevie,” Bucky says, and Steve coughs again because he can't stop, can barely see through how hard his eyes are watering.

“Wait-” Steve says, but Bucky doesn't, and it's just as bad this time, if not worse – Bucky holds onto Steve's head to keep him still and Steve just doesn't have anywhere to go as Bucky's hips snap forward against his face, and he chokes each time the head of Bucky's cock hits the back of his throat, knows he's gagging too hard and too frequently to stop himself drooling.

“Don't fight it,” Bucky says, and Steve can't help it, isn't used to this and doesn't want it but somehow Bucky's aware of all of that, “come on, sweetheart, just open up, just a little, you can do it-”

And it's not easier then, when Steve tries to focus on oxygen instead of stopping whatever's happening, but it's less terrible, though his eyes still water.

“I'm...” Bucky grunts, pulls Steve's hair hard enough to hurt, “I'm gonna come,” he says, “and you're gonna swallow it.”

Steve would moan around Bucky's cock if he could, but he can't, and he manages to look up to see the hazy face of his best friend looking down at him, looking nothing like his best friend.

Bucky's head tilts back, his hand still anchoring Steve's skull to keep him _exactly_ where he wants him, and then Bucky's driving in once, twice, a third time hard enough that he cuts off Steve's air, spilling down his throat with a noise that's as restrained as it could be attractive.

Steve's got no choice but to swallow because there isn't anywhere else for it to go and, when Bucky finally pulls away, Steve coughs so hard it _sounds_ wrong, deep and grating from the center of his chest and it's slick and tastes of bitter salt and-

Bucky drops down to his knees to bring his face level with Steve's, the knife clattering away somewhere and, for an instant, Steve thinks maybe it's over, maybe they're done. And then Bucky's _kissing_ him, lips smearing the mess in his mouth and on his chin, hands cradling his head like he's precious.

“You did so well,” he croons, “you did so good, you make me proud of you.”

“ _E-Exspecta,_ ” Steve manages, his voice rough and his throat aching, burning, and Bucky _laughs_.

“Come here,” he says, leaning back, and Steve shuffles awkwardly on his knees because Bucky grabs at his hair again, tugging him away from the cupboard.

When he risks a glance down, he finds that he wasn't as successful as he thought – come and saliva track down his chest towards his straining cock and his clothes are in _tatters_. There's fabric around his arms and his legs but the rest is moved or torn away, and he feels miserably exposed – moreso than he might if he were naked because this is what _Bucky's_ done, this is how _Bucky's left_ him. Torn apart and used without even bothering to undress him completely and Steve follows Bucky's movements when he stands again, hunching over on himself when Bucky moves out of his eyeline.

“Bucky,” he rasps, the words thick in his mouth, thick with Bucky's come, “stop it, please, stop it-”

“Naw, sweetheart,” Bucky answers from somewhere behind him, and there's the sound of metal, and the sound of movement, and then Bucky's kneeling behind him, pressed right up against the back of him. “And leave you hangin'?”

And then there's cold hardness on his stomach and Steve looks down. 

Bucky's picked up the knife again.

“You worry so much,” Bucky whispers in his ear, yanking Steve's bound hands back so they're flush together, so that Steve's head is practically on his shoulder and Steve has no leverage at all. “Look at how hard you are for me.”

And Steve knows he blushes all the way down, got teased mercilessly for it by anyone who saw it, but he can _feel_ it now, heat all the way down to his toes. He can feel sweat soaking the backs of his knees, can feel it between his shoulder blades and in his hair, and the smooth coldness eases down.

“No,” he whispers, “d-don't...”

“Shh,” Bucky soothes, his breath warm on the shell of Steve's ear, and he bites a second later. 

Steve forces himself not to move as the smooth edge of the blade travels horizontally up his straining cock.

“B-Bucky, d-don't-”

“Trust me,” Bucky says, long and low and smooth, and Steve looks down because he can't believe this, holds his breath because it's a goddamn _knife_. “You want to come?”

Steve bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut as he rocks his head back against Bucky's shoulder, and he doesn't know any more what kind of training this is, whether Bucky's going to keep his promise or have Steve singing soprano, and it's way more terrifying than he thought anything could be, such a base, instinctual fear, a _please don't hurt me there_ that has his nerves fraying in seconds.

“Relax,” Bucky says, and how he can sound so calm like this, Steve will never, ever understand – not if he lives through this, not if he remains intact through this.

“Buck,” Steve gasps, the word soft and high so that he's using as little air as possible, moving himself as little as possible.

“Look,” Bucky says against the side of his neck, and Steve doesn't want to, doesn't want to see what's going to happen. “Look at it, Steve, or I'll give you something to stare at.”

And that's enough, that makes him open his eyes and look down to where Bucky's flesh hand holds Bucky's knife to Steve's dick and, for just a moment, the pressure of the blade grows heavier. Steve has time to think _oh God, he's gonna cut it off and I'm gonna_ watch _him do it!_ before Bucky's flesh hand swings out almost faster than Steve can track, and the knife clatters off across the far side of the kitchen.

When his hand swings back, it's to grasp Steve's cock so hard he sees stars, and he can't help moaning as his back arches, hips snapping forward as Bucky slides his hand right down and back again.

“Want me to wait?” he says, and Steve wants him to stop, never wants him to stop, wants to curl up and die and a thousand other things, but what happens is,

“ _Bucky!_ ” and Bucky laughs at him again, low and smooth and rumbling so deep in his chest that Steve feels it through his back.

Bucky's metal hand lets go of the belt, of Steve's wrists, and circles around him, sweeping up through the mess on his abdomen, and Steve's mouth is slack enough, his lips bruised enough, that two of Bucky's fingers slip right in.

“Suck them,” Bucky says softly, and Steve blames his watering eyes on the torment he's already been through as he does as he's told, cold saliva and semen on his tongue.

A moment later, Bucky's doing it again, and this time he takes his hand back and-

Steve couldn't name the strangled cry he gives when Bucky's fingers start to circle his hole, didn't even know he was that exposed, but he doesn't get a chance to get used to it before the cold, slow drag of Bucky's finger is pushing past the ring of muscle.

Bucky flexes his metal finger, and _how in hell_ , and then he doesn't even give Steve chance to understand.

His flesh hand squeezes tight and _moves_ , so fast it's blinding, so fast Steve can't breathe out or in all the way before he's trying to do both at once all over again, and he can feel it winding up in the pit of his belly with the shame and the need, feel it coiling up inside his spine, feel it buzzing in his thighs.

 _“Parere!”_ he half-sobs.

And Bucky goes absolutely still.

The silence rings in Steve's ears, heartbeat roaring like thunder, breaths coming hard and fast, and _Bucky doesn't move_. Steve's body is still straining, held on a knife-edge, and isn't that ironic? Bucky's breathing quickens, and Steve can almost _hear_ the shock and the horror on his face, but the sweat is starting to cool on his skin and his mouth still tastes of salt and he can't do anything now; his legs are numb and his body's bowstring tight. He wanted this to stop and now it's stopped and he's not sure he can live through it. 

Steve shakes his head, and he hiccoughs helplessly.

“Please, Bucky,” he whispers, _“please...”_

And the few seconds of nothingness that follow feel like weeks, like _years_ as Bucky tries to figure out what to do in the face of what he's done, and then Bucky's finger flexes inside him and Bucky's wrist flicks up twice and Steve's back bows and his head falls back and his mouth falls open and he _comes_ so hard the world goes white.

~

“Jesus,” Bucky's whispering, somewhere distant, somewhere way away from wherever Steve is. “Oh, Jesus, _Jesus_ , Steve, oh, _God!”_

And Steve feels his body moving but knows he isn't doing it himself, feels his limbs shift and then there's pain in his hands and the world tilts and something stops him, turns him before his legs are killing him too.

“Stay right here,” Bucky tells him, “I'll be...” 

Bucky sounds like he's going to be sick and Steve can't think to remember why, only knows that it's _over now_. 

“ _Christ,_ Steve, I'm so...don't move,” he says, “don't move, I'm gonna get...the first aid kit and I'll clean you up and then....oh, God, oh _God_ , I'm sorry Steve.”

Steve thinks he might be drooling and the tile is cold and hard under his head, the lights are bright way up there on the ceiling and Steve still isn't sure what happened but he doesn't think he could move if he tried.

“I won't be long,” Bucky's voice says, further away and more frantic, more panicked, “I won't be long, you stay right where you are.”

And he's probably well out of the room by the time Steve manages to force a thick, slurred, _“yessir,”_ past his swollen lips and coated tongue.

**Author's Note:**

> While doing a crossword to help Bucky acclimatise to his life post-HYDRA, Steve accidentally triggers some of the Winter Soldier's conditioning - Bucky's been trained to dominate during sex at the mention of the word "Magister." Having triggered him accidentally, and being unwilling to hurt his best friend, Steve realizes he has no way to stop Bucky until the conditioning sees itself through.
> 
> Steve's forced to give a blowjob, and then to receive a handjob + anal play.


End file.
